Fixing his trip's safety

Meet Enayat.
Enayat is a fixer.
In fact, he comes from a family of fixers. It’s pretty much the family business.
What’s a fixer? A little bit of everything if you’re a Western journalist trying to gather news in a foreign country. Fixers interpret, but they are more than interpreters.
They know people. They know how to get things done. And they can be trusted. That trust is their biggest asset.
This sunny Saturday afternoon, Enayat and I are heading east from Mazar-e Sharif toward the ancient city of Balkh, about 12 miles away. Enayat’s at the wheel of his Toyota Corolla, and like every other driver I’ve encountered in Afghanistan he drives like a maniac.
The car is a new one. Work as a fixer can pay pretty well, particularly in an area like northern Afghanistan where Enayat’s ability to put journalists in contact with sources among the Taliban is highly valued.
He’s been working for news outlets in America, Germany, and Sweden and about the time I head for home he’ll take a position with The New York Times.
The landscape is as flat as central Illinois and the color of a pair of khakis. That’s the color of winter, Enayat explains.
This road is safe now, he tells me. In the spring and summer, it’s another story. He points at a stand of trees. In the summer, he says, the Taliban can hide there, making this stretch of highway dangerous.
Swedish troops, part of the International Security Assistance Force, the formal name for the NATO-driven military operation, have been hit hard here.
But now, with winter, the trees provide no cover. The Taliban have melted away, moved to other locales or gone into hiding.
In spite of Enayat’s assurances, not everyone believes this trip is safe.
Bobak, the “coordinator” back at the offices of the Institute for War and Peace Reporting, warned against the Balkh excursion. Jahantab, the young woman doing translation for my seminar, will tell me in a few days that she would not have made the trip.
But I trust Enayat, despite the fact that I’ve known him less than 24 hours. He’s done good work for IWPR and dozens of Western journalists. It’s in his best interests — and the interest of the family business — to make sure I remain safe.
That becomes clear the moment we arrive at our destination. After touching base with a couple of local police officers, Enayat is on his cell phone, calling a friend.
Though I detect nothing to provoke concern, Enayat quickly suggests that we get back in the car and go to a different neighborhood.
We’ve been walking through a park surrounded by bits and pieces of the ancient city. Mostly we’ve been talking to a couple of kids on bicycles who have good English skills. But it’s time to move on.
Five minutes later, we’ve picked up Akhmudjon.
He’s a college buddy of Enayat’s. He lives in Balkh. And he’s a Pashtun.
The Taliban are largely Pashtun, and having a local resident with the same ethnicity is something of an insurance policy.
It’s also a good chance for a couple of kids to horse around and tease each other while showing an American the sights.
And they are both kids. Akhmudjon tells me he is 20. Enayat is 22, though he looks even younger.
But they’re also my protectors, and as we make our way around what is left of one of the oldest cities in the world — a place visited by Marco Polo and leveled by Ghengis Khan — I feel safe.
Wary. Alert. Conscious always of my surroundings. But safe.
That’s what a good fixer can provide.[[In-content Ad]]